[Wednesday, November 13, 2013]
One day toward the end of May, the Directorate’s hallways and floors echoed with news that Sheytanov had finally been caught. The blood drained from Geshev’s face and he shot toward the telephone exchange. He barged in and demanded, “Is he alive?” When they answered him that yes, he was alive, there hadn’t even been a shootout, he declared that from that moment on, he was to know of Sheytanov’s whereabouts every second of the day. The telegraphers shrugged and moaned, yessir, but he yelled:
“And where is he now?!”
The telegraphers were startled because he had an awful look in his eye. One of them jumped out of his chair and handed him the dispatch, where Geshev read that the deputy district constable of Nova Zagora—Vrangelov someone or other, Ermia Vrangelov—was sending fourteen detainees to Sofia. The names were listed below, and Geshev spotted Sheytanov’s name. He was eighth: immediately after someone called Andrea Petrov and right before Mariola Sirakova. It also said the detainees would be convoyed by First Lieutenant Kutsarov. The last detail nettled him—he knew the man personally and his penchant for causing trouble. He shook his head, knocked on wood just in case, and asked the telegraphers whether anyone else had seen the dispatch and the list of detainees. They explained over each other that it had just arrived and they were just about to take it to the chief, but Geshev nonchalantly told them he’d take care of it—he would bring it himself.
And he put the piece of paper in his pock
[NB! I’ve got the whole correspondence here somewhere—Sliven judges and prosecutors from Plovdiv demand to know Sheytanov’s whereabouts for weeks and months on end, to assure a trial, while at the same time Turnovo’s district court writes to the chief of Public Safety, “where is he now, in some prison, killed in an attempted escape, etc.,” because any information is “necessitated by the public prosecutor’s office in order to carry out the verdict of the Turnovo district court: 10 years of solitary confinement inside a maximum security prison” . . . And so forth. All of these institutions received the same response: the Police Directorate had “absolutely no information,” a dispatch containing any of the alleged information was never logged, and appeared to be “floating” . . . Whatever that may mean.]
He put the piece of paper in his pocket and told the ill-at-ease telegraphers to report on every single word they got on Sheytanov.
“You know where to find me,” he said to them and left the room.
[Friday, November 15, 2013]
The following day, one of the telegraphers did descend to the basement of the building with the ludicrous bell tower. He found Geshev, leaned over and whispered in his ear that First Lieutenant Kutsarov had indeed arrived with his entire party, but without the arrestees.
Geshev lost his ability to speak.
“What do you mean without the arrestees?!” he asked.
“Yessir!” the telegrapher responded. “Without the arrestees. And they were all fall-down drunk.”
“Without even a single arrestee?” Geshev repeated, but the telegrapher only shrugged with shame.
Geshev sent him on his way and, now alone in the darkened room, mumbled, “They let them get away!” He cursed and slammed his fist on the writing table with the most impotent rage he’d felt in his entire li